


Perfection

by TheHatterTheory



Series: Christmas Presents [2]
Category: Captain America, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M, seriously cotton candy fluff, tony sucks at gift giving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 15:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHatterTheory/pseuds/TheHatterTheory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's two days until Christmas and Tony has no idea what to get Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sweaterweatherforeverx](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sweaterweatherforeverx).



> I don't own the rights to characters or concepts created and owned by Marvel
> 
> Sweaterweatherforeverx at tumblr asked for last minute Christmas shopping, superhusbands. I'm not sure if this is what she had in mind, but my muses adore torturing Tony. So.

Tony was known for a lot of things, most of them he couldn't remember, and a good majority of them he probably shouldn't be proud of. A lot of them Pepper liked reminding him of whenever he was feeling pleased with himself or he'd screwed up. None of them included panic.

Then again, none of them included searching for the perfect gift either.

"Shit."

He had two days to go, and he still had no idea what to get, because Steve had to be perfect. And impossible. He almost resented the guy's attitude, almost.

"I just want all of us together for Christmas  that's the best gift I can think of," Tony mocked, voice reaching a high pitch as he kicked his heel. Normally he wouldn't mock Steve in such a way, except the humble, giving, damn near perfect human being had made it impossible to find a gift for him. Everyone else had been easy enough, in their own way. Tony knew them well enough to figure out presents for them. But Steve didn't collect anything, didn't covet anything, didn't ask for anything. Most of his salary went to charity, he refused offers to buy him anything, and he didn't like leaving the city.

"Sir, if I may-" Jarvis began.

"You may not," Tony growled, not looking up at the speaker where the voice had originated from as the others were wont to do.

"You have purchased experiences for the others, Sir. Perhaps something similar for Mr. Rogers?" The voice continued, as if Tony hadn't tried to stop him.

"I don't want to make his like the others," Tony whined, wishing Christmas didn't exist.

"There is always calling Miss Potts, sir."

"No." Because calling Pepper while freaking out about Steve's gift was a little too crass, even for him. Their breakup had been amiable, even friendly. But there was something undeniably tacky about calling your ex about what to get your not-crush-thing for Christmas.

"What about Mr. Rhodes?"

"No." Because Rhodey didn't have a clue, and that wasn't a conversation he really wanted to have now. Or ever. "Jarvis, bring up everything we know about Cap, main screen."

Jarvis complied, a list of what amounted to 'Steve' on the screen. Art, good duties, friends either dead or aging, vigorous workout routine, favorite foods and colors, year long passes to every museum in New York, birthday. "Was he really born on the fourth of July?"

"Yes, sir, he was."

"Figures."

He'd bought vacations for everyone else, the desire to see them smile just barely ahead of the desire for some peace in the tower. Phil and Clint were inseparable and deserved to get the hell away from SHIELD for awhile, and Natasha would never let them go anywhere without her. Tony hadn't asked if it was one of those kinds of relationships, and didn't really want to know. Poly whatever was fine as long as he didn't have to imagine who did what, especially with those three. Bruce was getting on a private jet for Tibet before New Years, and Thor had been given a Scandinavian resort package for two so he could drag Jane to a frozen wasteland and get comfy under the covers, far the fuck away from the tower (he still hadn't forgiven the thunder god for inadvertently zapping the coffee maker into nothingess after a 'romp' had left him feeling particularly energized).

He didn't really want to send Steve anywhere, mostly because Steve wasn't much for traveling. He liked roots, liked staying in New York. And because the others would be gone and he'd be with Steve, which while selfish, was a bonus and not his primary motivation so he didn't feel quite as guilty as he probably should.

But what would be on par with Sweden, Fiji, or Tibet in the middle of New York?

Tony continued staring at the list like it held the keys to the universe.

Six hours, two car engines and god only knew how much coffee later, inspiration struck.

After placing a few calls, Jarvis didn't even make fun of him when he did his victory dance across the workshop.

 

* * *

 

Christmas morning came and everyone seemed mostly alert, Thor booming happily while Steve smiled like he'd been eating special brownies. Phil and Clint were totally not cuddling on the couch, even though there was no room whatsoever between them and Clint was drowsing on Phil's shoulder, and Natasha wasn't sitting at their feet, head against Clint's knee.

Tony felt like he'd been hit by a bus repeatedly and clutched his thermos protectively, as if someone was going to snatch it from his hands. He'd forgotten to sleep. Again.

"Who is going to be Santa?" Steve asked, blue eyes almost obnoxiously bright and cheerful.

"But I thought the Santa came at night," Thor began, the befuddled look that Jane found endearing and the team found portentous pinching his forehead.

"When someone gives out the gifts from under the tree, it's normal to call them Santa," Natasha said quickly, stemming the tide of questions before they came. "And since Steve was the one that organized all of this, I think he should have the honor this year."

Steve was blushing as he sat next to the tree, the tall, over decorated tree that almost hurt to look at, it had so many different colored ornaments and lights hanging from it's branches. The lights, blinking cheerily, made Tony's head hurt a little, and he opened his thermos and took a few healthy swallows while lamenting that he'd forgotten the whiskey.

Presents piled up next to people, the wrapping jobs giving away who had done what. Natasha and Phil had obviously wrapped their own and Clint's, since the presents looked perfect, like something out of a Christmas commercial. Refraining from asking if they'd used tactical knives to curl the ribbons, Tony watched everyone from behind half closed eyes, pretending not to feel awkward.

Presents from Thor were clumsily wrapped, looking like a ten year old had gotten a hold of the supplies and literally tried to put everything on them, from bows to ribbons to glitter. Presents from Steve were neatly wrapped, but unassuming. No flash or style, just normal, cheery wrapping paper with Santas or snowflakes all over them.

Tony refused to admit he'd had the bots wrap his presents, if for no other reason than he didn't want Steve mothering him when he found out about the burn currently patching the center of his left palm from a sleep deprived incident with a spare arc reactor and a screw driver.

But once all of the presents were handed out, everyone paused thoughtfully.

"What now?" Thor asked, looking around in confusion.

"Now we open them," Steve told him, the tips of his ears blushing brightly.

The sounds of wrapping paper being torn apart (Clint and Thor), clinically cut open (Phil and Natasha) or neatly opened from the edges (Bruce) echoed in the room. Tony stared at his presents, still unused to the novelty of having wrapped presents on Christmas. Appreciative hums and laughter began covering the crinkling noise of wrapping paper. Thanks were accompanied by the flash of a digital camera. Oddly it was Bruce taking pictures of everyone in between opening his own presents.

"You going to open yours dude? If not, I'll take 'em," Clint offered, a verbal nudge Tony couldn't miss. Sitting his thermos on the floor next to him he reached for the present on the top of the pile. Clumsily wrapped with two different papers, red and green, along with a blue bow and a layer of glitter that falls off as he unwraps the dull chunk of metal, immediately recognizing the uru he had been lusting after for months.

"Thanks," He said, knowing Thor had to have done some amount of talk to get his father to allow the unworked metal into human hands. Thor smiled and nodded, still holding the reservation papers for his gift with Jane.

Phil and Clint's gift to him turned out to be an action figure of himself, prompting a chuff that Tony didn't bother trying to hold in. Natasha had procured schematics for one of Doom's newer toys, ones that self destructed the moment Tony tried to take them apart, thwarting any chances of reverse engineering. A grateful nod received a nod of acknowledgment, not that Tony had expected any other response. Bruce's gift to him was neatly wrapped in red paper with gold ribbons, and inside of the box was a chunk of vibranium.

"How did you get T'challa to part with this?" Tony asked, unable to help himself. "He said he'd never let me touch any of it."

"I didn't tell him it was for you," Bruce chuckled, brown eyes lit with a rare smile. Unable to help himself, Tony burst out laughing, imagining the furious look on the Wakandan leader's face when he found out, and he would.

Hesitant to pick up the last present, Tony looked around, noticed that everyone else was focusing on their own gifts. Steve wasn't paying attention, attempting to help Bruce explain the playstation Phil had gotten the Aesir.

Furtively curling around the tube, Tony opened the paper slowly, unsure of what the soldier would have gotten him. Under the paper was a poster tube, both ends capped. Tugging at one of the plastic white caps, Tony almost flinched at the hollow plunking sound it made when it released. Looking around again, he saw the no one was looking at him, and he pulled the rolled paper out, unrolling it it quickly.

A detailed, shaded sketch of him in his workshop was revealed, black and white and every shade of gray in between. But the hints of color, blue and brown, red and gold jumped out, high contrast against the grayscale. The arc reactor on his chest, his eyes, and the helmet he was working on were focal points that only seemed to enhance the pinched expression on his face.

His workshop was usually off limits. The only time Steve had been inside in the past few months since he'd moved in had been when he was running tests on the shield after Amora had worked some of her cracked mojo on it. Tony couldn't remember what he'd been doing while waiting for the analysis, but he might have been working on his helmet. But he was one hundred percent sure Steve hadn't had his sketchbook then, which meant it had been drawn from memory.

Looking up at Steve, Tony saw several pairs of eyes trained on him.

The too familiar for comfort taste of panic soured in his throat.

"This is awesome dude, thanks. But I think you got my bad side."

He knew he should have expected Natasha's open palm making contact with the back of his head for that one, but he hadn't really prepared for it.

Steve was opening his last present, face flushed red. He fumbled the paper and Tony felt a flinch of guilt as he waited.

"Oh. Thank you, Tony."

Tony found himself getting dragged out of the living room by a furious, red headed, former Russian before he really knew what was going on. Short nails dug into his skin and he choked on the complaint about the sketch falling haphazardly to the floor as he was pulled into the kitchen, out of sight of the others. Air whooshed out of his lungs as the fridge handle dug painfully into his back. Righteously pissed green eyes bored into his.

" _A rose art kit_?" Natasha hissed, fists clutching his shirt and shaking him roughly.

"Note, inside of the kit," Tony told her, shaking off the nausea from hunger and too much caffeine.

"You had better have confessed your undying love and devotion in that note," She whispered furiously.

"New Year's," He muttered, fighting the sudden surge of bile.

"You're giving him a _date_?" Incredulity was etched on Natasha's face, one of the few genuine, blatant displays of emotion Tony had ever seen from her, which was a good indicator that he was going to get his ass kicked if he didn't come clean.

"He'll hear if I tell you."

"Write it down," She growled, finally releasing his shirt and stepping back. Looking around, Tony finally pulled the grocery list from the fridge door and scribbled down the surprise present that he had come up with.

Natasha's brows rose in surprise.

"That's- That's actually really thoughtful. Good job Stark."

Once they walked back into the living room, Tony ignored his churning stomach and the questioning stares, choosing instead to chug coffee before offering a tight smile.

"It's a surprise," He said before laying down on the floor.

He woke up stretched out on the couch, the smell of food making his stomach growl.

No one asked, but Steve didn't stop blushing.

 

* * *

 

Everyone was supposed to be gone on New Year's Eve. Supposed to be. But they weren't

As it turned out, Phil was even more capable of violence than Clint when his partner was accused of being, well, Tony wasn't quite sure what the slur was, but it was bad enough to provoke Phil in such a way that not only were the two men and Natasha booted from the resort, but none of the avengers were welcome anywhere near it ever again. The fact that there was zero property damage only made the whole thing worse somehow. Tony wouldn't admit the redeeming light was Natasha taking a short 'trip' to go seek the other guys out. She was preening for the next twenty four hours, almost human as she sauntered around the tower.

In route to Tibet, Tony's jet, carrying Bruce, had been grounded under the impression that Tony was on board. Bruce had been hassled by the Chinese government. Despite trying to keep his cool, Bruce had Hulked out. He never made it to Tibet, fearing fleeing to the small country would have caused a political issue the already troubled country didn't need. He was sticking to moping in his lab, playing with his new lab equipment (bought the moment Tony had heard because he felt like shit that his present hadn't panned out).

Only Thor had managed to stay away, and Tony didn't want to think about why.

But almost everyone was at the Tower. And Natasha had seen fit to tell everyone but Steve what his present was, and then draft them into the plans to help out.

Tony hated sharing the limelight, just a little (lot). Even if they were helping everything flow a lot more smoothly than it had been. He didn't want to share, felt strangely possessive of his idea, his present to Steve.

That didn't stop everyone from heading out early, all dressed to the nines and smirking at him and telling Steve they had their own plans. An obligatory 'don't do anything Tony would do' was thrown out by Clint. Tony imagined an arrow that curved back on whomever shot it before exploding in their face. Petulant, but it succeeded in mitigating his frustration.

Steve stuttered something and ran off to his room to get ready.

Tony went to his floor and donned the suit Jarvis had picked, if only for Steve's sake. That done, he walked to the elevator and shouted for Steve, who walked out in a suit, cheeks still flush. Tony wondered if Steve thought it was a date. Briefly he wished for a corsage, something to make it more date-like, if only to see Steve blush.

"So." Tony flinched at his own awkwardness, immediately hating it. And himself, just a little.

"Let's go, I guess."

"Yup. Be ready, you are in for the best night of your life."

"You aren't taking me to a strip club, are you?" Steve asked.

"What? _No_! Why would you even-"

"I just thought, after last time-"

"You hated last time, and this is a present."

"You also said that about last time."

"No cakes. No strippers. I swear."

The elevator dinged open and they endured the ride in silence, Tony becoming painfully aware of the awkward silence. Trying to avoid anymore stilted speech, he blew through every non sequitur he could think of to get through the moment, but nothing was really working because what if Steve didn't like his present?

The onset of panic, regret, and even embarrassment hit Tony so quickly he barely had time to register the sudden train of thought before he was chewing the inside of his cheek nervously, fingers coming up to tap his arc reactor through his shirt.

"You're nervous."

"What? No. Not nervous."

"You only do that when you're nervous."

And when had Cap gotten so perceptive?

"Little nervous," He admitted.

"Why? I'm sure I'll enjoy the present."

"I dunno. Everything's gone so swimmingly with everyone else."

"You couldn't help that someone insulted Clint and Phil-"

"I should have booked them to a gay resort or something."

"Except Tasha wanted to be with them. And the situation with Tibet is beyond your control too. Bruce can't help that he was being hassled."

"I could have planned the flight better, somehow. It only takes a few bribes and-"

"Tony, shut up. I'm sure it's going to be fine."

Except Tony wasn't entirely sure it would be.

The drive was even more awkward than the elevator ride. Music didn't help, but once it was turned up loudly enough, it covered it, made it impossible to talk even if they had wanted to. And he didn't. He really, really didn't.

The valet was too kind, beaming widely with the sort of smile that made Tony cringe because there was no genuine warmth to be found in it. Giving a much bigger tip than he should, he waited patiently for Steve to get out. When Steve did, Tony heard the sharp intake of breath.

Too late he realized he should have blindfolded him because Steve's face was ghost white, wide blue eyes pinned on the signs with elegant font advertising his name.

"Tony-" That was it, nothing else.

"Shit."

Steve turned and Tony tried to force a smile, but it had about as much feeling as the valet's had. Possibly less.

"Look, I thought maybe, I mean, art should be shared, right? So I thought-"

"You'd steal mine and put it in a gallery?"

"Technically the others stole it."

Obviously that didn't make it any better, because Steve had gone from white to red. It wasn't the sort of blush Tony appreciated.

"Look, we don't have to go in. I'll-"

"No," Steve muttered, looking almost ashamed, as if he had done some horrible wrong. And he probably thought he had. "You, you did this for me. I'm just, this is huge, and I'm not that good, and-"

"You are amazing. As an artist. You are an amazing artist." _Lovely Tony, going to be any more subtle tonight?_ "And everyone is going to love it. Pretty sure you're going to have to part with some of them."

Steve chuffed, a small smile tilted up the corners of his lips, barely there.

"Look, if you don't want to go in, we don't have to. I can speak to the gallery owner and everything can be taken down."

"No, no," Steve said, shaking his head quickly. "This is my Christmas present. I want to see it."

Tony tried not to notice that Steve was holding himself like he was about to go into a fight, his whole body tense and fists clenched at his sides. Sighing heavily, he followed Steve past the signs that had his name on them, past the doors and into the gallery itself.

It was almost empty.

There were a hundred excuses on the tip of his tongue, a dozen ways to comfort Steve because the turn out was supposed to have been so much better, there were supped to be dozens of people admiring his work. From what he could see, it was only the Avengers and a few other assorted people, most of them older.

Damn it.

He looked to Steve, but the super soldier had visibly relaxed. He even looked...Happy.

Natasha came over, immediately snagging Steve's arm and dragging him to a far wall to where an older couple were staring fondly at one of the pieces. Clint came up next to him, a glass of champagne in hand.

"Dude, this was a bad idea," Clint said, voice so low even Tony could barely hear it.

"The people? I mean, I told the owner to advertise-"

"No, there were tons of people here."

"What happened?"

"They were being pricks."

"Shit." Tony hadn't considered what the artistic elite would do to Steve's work, what Steve could have heard, would have heard had he come in earlier.

"Natasha scared them off."

Tony said something before he considered the ramifications of that particular statement.

"Oh."

"Yeah, _oh_."

"Well."

"Look dude, just, don't do this again."

Before Tony could say anything Clint was off, going back to Phil's side.

For the next two hours Tony watched Steve speak with the few people that had remained after Natasha's purge. They seemed friendly and what was more, Steve looked happy, genuinely so.

"This one almost blew up in your face," Natasha said, coming over with two glasses of wine in hand. He gladly took one, wishing he'd thought of something else.

"Heard you ran interference. Thanks for that."

"No problem. He's having a good time."

"Yeah. I just sort of pictured something bigger."

"Tony, you got him a gallery showing."

"And you made sure he wasn't emotionally traumatized."

"I promise we'll never tell him that."

"Thanks. Seriously. We can say it's an advance of my Christmas present next year."

"Have you looked at them?" She asked, changing topic quickly enough that he choked on his wine.

"What?"

"It's a gallery showing. Have you looked at the art?"

"Uh, no?" Because it was more fun to watch Steve having a good time. And because he sort of hated art. It was difficult not to after countless galas and charity events taking place in art museums.

"You should look around. You might even be able to buy a piece."

"I could become his patron officially."

"Try looking at the art first," She told him, voice hinting at a chuckle before she was off, walking over to an older man that was by himself.

Taking the command for what it was, Tony tore his gaze from Steve, who was speaking to an elderly woman, and walked over to the wall. Hanging in a simple black frame was a watercolor of Times Square. Cleverly blurred in the center, the picture was a mirror, the current Square bright, tightly packed together, unattractive. Tony could hear the noise blaring loudly, garishly from the left side of the picture. But blurring into modulated, quiet tones was the Square from decades before, from a time before Tony was born.

Moving on, eyes eating up the love and care in each picture, the nostalgia and the longing reaching out from memories of a world that was just beneath the surface of Steve's memory. It was almost painful, seeing the peace he stored in those memories, plain for everyone to see. The more Tony looked, the more he wondered if he had made the right decision, baring Steve's secrets to other people.

Gulping his wine down, he looked around, caught one of the wait staff and grabbed another glass, not caring that this one was red and his first had been white. Ignoring the initial sourness that accompanied the taste change, he continued until he turned the corner of a wall set in the middle of the room, alone for a moment with Steve's art.

This picture, unlike most of the others, didn't have a tone of the past to it, the sepia nostalgia present in so many of the other pieces, although people would assume, to one degree or another, because of the old Indian motorcycle. Tony's eyes widened, seeing himself smiling, relaxed. It wasn't a state he was even used to being in, much less seeing himself in. Completely at ease, he was holding a wrench, and the arc reactor was barely peeking from over one of his muscle shirts. He was covered in grease and smiling, the corners of his eyes wrinkled, laugh lines around his lips barely visible for his goatee.

Getting closer, not quite believing he'd ever done anything remotely like that, looked remotely like that (if for no other reason than Steve would never let him touch the antique), he examined the picture, determined to see who this other Tony was.

Bright, warm colors, a smile. He was looking at someone outside of the picture, and there was oil in his hair, spiking it in different directions like some sort of mad scientist dropped in the middle of a garage. There were other cars, blurred outlines, but he recognized them, saw his collections of old hot rods facing the collection of newer, flashier sports cars.

In the corner, almost hidden by the frame, he saw the words 'wishful thinking' neatly written in an elegant, precise hand.

Unsure quite what to do with the image, with the title, he turned away, not even bothering to set his glass down as he walked out of the room and then out of the gallery. The valet brought his car and he left the wine glass sitting on top of the key box, tearing off into the night with ideas already playing through his imagination. Most of them were immediately discarded as fantasy, his own wishful thinking and personal interpretations that were not, could not be remotely related to reality.

When he got back to the tower, he did what he did best. He locked himself in his workshop and began to tinker.

 

* * *

 

Steve moped. Not that anyone was commenting on it, not that they'd really had time. Everyone had been called on different missions, minor things, taken care of in the space of a day or two. But he was definitely moping. And he hated it, because he was acting like a girl that had been left alone at a dance, and that was not his style (it wasn't).

But he couldn't really seem to help himself either. When the gallery had closed for the night and he'd walked the floor looking for Tony and had found that he'd already left. It had felt like a solid blow to the stomach, and he'd ridden back with the others in the limo they'd decided to rent under Tony's name, all the while pretending to be riding that initial high of having his art in a gallery.

The moment he had been alone however, the fear had come, the paranoid questions.

What if Tony had seen?

Of course Tony had seen the art. Of course, he had been the one to arrange the gallery opening. But what if he had _seen_ it, as opposed to just looking at it?

What if he didn't want to speak to Steve anymore?

Tony Stark was a lot of things, but good with feelings wasn't really one of them. The man made a habit of avoiding anything that required more emotional investment than a sandwich. And the implications of Steve's art, especially when it concerned Tony, was on the other end of the scale, as far as it could go.

Needing air and distance from the building, which was still quiet in the wake of Natasha, Thor, Clint and Coulson's absence. Almost oppressive after the noise of the holidays, it was too still, too open.

Not in the mood for a jog, he pulled on his boots and zipped up his leather jacket before grabbing his helmet. One good thing about living in the swankiest part of town despite his misgivings, the roads were always the first cleared. He informed Jarvis he was going for a ride in case the others came back while he was gone and took the elevator down to the garage fumbling uselessly with his helmet.

When the doors opened he got out, eyes immediately seeking out the Indian Tony had procured for him. It wasn't in it's normal spot, and after a quick sweep of the garage his stomach bottomed out dangerously.

His bike was between the two rows of cars, surrounded by tools. Oh god, what had Tony done to it?

Rushing over he looked for rocket launchers or guns or lasers or an arc reactor engine but didn't notice anything out of place on it. However, he did see the inventor sprawled out on the other side, his jeans ragged and covered in dark streaks of oil and his Black Sabbath shirt riding up his stomach to show a singularly fascinating line of hair leading below the waistband of his pants. Tony was snoring.

"Stark?" Steve tried quietly.

"Allow me sir," Jarvis's voice quipped over the intercom. Before he could negate the action, the AI sounded a sharp, loud burst of noise that startled the engineer, making his body jerk and his eyes open. The noise ceased almost immediately and Tony was staring up at Steve through bleary, dazed eyes.

"Steve?"

"Hi," Steve said lamely, not quite sure what to say yet.

"This is the part where I get a kiss, right?" Tony asked, voice still groggy.

"What?"

"For the tires. Better traction, no chance of popping, can even go over snow," Tony explained.

Steve couldn't stop his smile even though he was blushing like a madman.

"I don't think I'm going to kiss you for tires," He chuckled. It was a thought though.

"Oh. Well the smile works. Your smile is awesome," Tony told him before his eyes closed again. Almost immediately a snore escaped and Steve knew he was down and out for the count.

Ignoring the bike and it's new tires, Steve walked back to the elevator, blushing like a schoolgirl and feeling three times as giddy.

"Mister Rogers, I can-"

"Don't," Steve told him, still chuckling breathlessly. "Jarvis, what do those tires do?"

He got a complete list of what the tires were capable of handling, growing more and more surprised each second. They had barely looked different, not even disturbing the nostalgic look of the motorcycle itself. Still listening as Jarvis droned on about the specifications, he went to his room and grabbed a blanket and a pillow, as well as his sketchbook and pencil case, immediately heading back for the elevator. Jarvis finished by the time he got back down to the garage, having been cut off just as he was heading into the chemical makeup of whatever was beneath the rubber. That sort of thing was still beyond Steve.

Tony was right where he left him, asleep and sprawled out and snoring.

Carefully he propped up the man's neck and slipped the pillow under before draping the blanket over him. Then, ignoring the mess of tools that would normally drive him crazy, he sat against one of the old hot rods and began to draw.


End file.
